Mini Chimis
by Raphi-girl
Summary: Peter gets Wade an anniversary gift. For some strange reason, Wade doesn't like it at all! Will this be the ned of their relationship! Rated for Language! Enjoy! :D


"Happy Anniversary, Wade!" Peter hollered, jumping onto the older man's lap, "I got you a present…"

"Oh~!" Wade cooed lewdly, "What is it?"

Peter grinned and slung his backpack off his shoulders, dropping it on Wade's lap, "Now, it's just a little something…I saw it when I was out with Pops at the grocery store and just knew that it was something you would just love!"

Peter pulled the box out and Wade gaped at the object in his little web-slingers hands, "Are…are those…"

"Yup!" Peter chirped brightly, "Mini Chimichangas!"

Wade was mad at him.

Peter slouched in his chair at the dinner table, picking at his food. He'd usually be at Wade's crappy apartment right now, eating crappy, artery-clogging, swimming in more grease than is legal tacos and watching crappy Golden Girls reruns (not that he'd say anything to anyone) on Wade's crappy TV while they snuggled on Wade's crappy couch.

But, for some crap-tastic reason probably, Wade was mad at him.

If I wanted to get the silent treatment, I'd have kept dating Mary-Jane…

He'd eaten every taco, chimichanga, burrito, and quesadilla the Merc with a Mouth had handed to him and, when he thought he'd puke from over feeding, he'd still eaten more.

He hadn't brought up the fact that whenever Wade talked about his ex-girlfriend Death (Peter still didn't understand how someone could date Death, but whatever), the Mercenary got so hard he could probably shatter diamonds, and how Peter was kind of jealous because apparently, where Death the Man-Stealing Bitch was concerned, Wade had no refractory period, but with Peter there were always hours in between rounds.

Peter knew he hadn't insulted Bea Arthur, he knew that for sure. Dad, while he was a bit of an asshole were classic TV shows were concerned, got a kick out of her and Pops, well, he had apparently fought Nazi's with her or something and she'd given him acting advice.

Plus the whole 'New Yorkers might not be able to stand each other, but insult one and you'll get knifed by another' thing."

Not that Pops would knife him, but Peter had seen the 'East Coast, West Coast' arguments his father's had gotten into over the years and did not want to open that can of worms again.

"Peter?" Steve asked gently, not used to his usually animated son being so forlorn, "Are you alright?"

Peter huffed and dropped his fork, "Wade's mad at me…"

"So that's why you've been home these past few days." Tony tried to say neutrally, but, come on, the mercenary was ten years old than his son.

And, y'know, a mercenary.

"Try two weeks, six days, twenty hours, nine minutes and some seconds in change." Peter grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest, "I don't even know what I did…"

"Probably nothing. Dudes crazy anyway."

"Dad!"

"Tony!"

The billionaire took a bite then waved his for around, "Sorry thought you guys knew."

Steve glared at his husband, while Peter settled for sulking some more. Oh well. Tony thought himself funny. That's all that matter.

The blond wrinkled his nose, then turned to Peter, "Did you…I don't know…insult his obsession with Spanish food? Or Bea?"

"No…I haven't done anything that would ever make him mad!" Peter cried, tears of frustration gathering in his eyes, "Maybe…he's just tired of me…"

"No, Peter, no!" Steve said quickly, dragging Peter into his arms for a hug, "Things will work out eventually. Now, finish your supper and we'll have Happy drive you over to Wade's so you two can talk things out. How's that sound?"

Peter agreed with a reluctant grumble. He might be able to find out what he did to make the Merc mad, but it's not like they would solve the problem. Man was like a woman when it came to grudges.

He's like a crazy, male version of MJ…

Peter, after spending fifteen minutes convincing Happy that, yes, he could leave Peter here and, yes, Peter would call if he need a right back to the Tower and, no, Peter did not need his spare Tazer, even if Wade was mad at him, he wouldn't hurt him, thank you very much, he finally, finally, got into the dilapidated apartment building and up the stairs.

With each flight of steps, Peter grew more and more angry. How dare he be mad at Peter! And not tell him just what the hell Peter did wrong! How dare that talkative, scar covered, killing machine with big bulging arms and thigh muscles that could make crystals from coal and-

Great. Now Peter was pissed and horny.

Wade was a dead man.

Peter pounded his fist on the door. He could have used the key Wade gave him months ago, but he needed something to work his frustrations out right this second.

"Wade!" Peter yelled, knowing that the mercenary was the only one for at least three floors, "Open up the damn door or I'll kick it down!"

He had just raised his foot when the door swung open to reveal Wade, holding a box of tissues and teddy bear dressed like Spiderman (Spider-Bear?) that had seen better days, wearing a pair of white briefs that really couldn't, shouldn't, be classified as white anymore, with matted pink bunny slippers on his feet.

"Oh. It's just you." The mercenary said sadly, "I was hoping it was Bob. He said he'd come watch movies with me this weekend."

"I want to talk to you!" Peter said, ducking under Wade's arms and stepping into the apartment and grimacing at the sight of dirty dish after dirty dish after dirty dish, "Christ, I know you own a dishwasher and I know I showed you how to use it three weeks ago."

Wade sighed in annoyance, "What the fuck do you want, Peter?"

"What the fuck do I want? What the fuck do I want?!" Peter snarled at the older man, "I fucking want to know what I fucking did wrong so I can fucking fix it!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but you can't fix this." Wade sniffed delicately (how was that even possible?!), "You hurt my feelings, dumbass. And I'm not gonna forgive you for it."

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I DID WRONG, WADE!"

Wade threw Spider-Bear at Peter, hitting him in the chest, "THEN I GUESS WE WEREN'T MEANT TO BE IF YOU CANT FIGURE OUT HOW YOU PRETTY MUCH SPIT IN MY FACE!"

"JUST TELL ME!"

"NO!"

"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Peter screamed, throwing his hands up in the air, "If you would just tell me what the fuck I did I'd fix it, Wade! Christ, I never realized how completely boring and sucky my life was without you in it. You've been acting weird since…"

Peter blinked then gaped at Wade, "Is that was this is about?! The mini chimis?! What? Did I not get enough of them? I knew I should have gotten-"

"NO!"

"Wade-"

"THOSE ARE NOT FUCKING CHIMICHANGAS!"

"But Wade-"

"THEY ARE A RIP AT $5.99 A BOX!"

"What are you-?

"THEY TASTE NOTHING LIKE THE HEAVEN THAT IS TACO KING!"

Peter just rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and headed for the kitchen. He made his way to the rusty freezer and opened the door, ignoring the creaks and groans the hinges made. There, sitting as innocent as they had when they had caught his eye in the store those long three weeks ago, sat the box of Señor Ranchero Mini Chimis.

He looked over at Wade with a crooked smile, "I know just how to fix this, babe."

Peter grabbed the box, shut the freezer door, and then strolled to the window in the living room, "If you had just told me, from the very beginning, I could have fixed this, and we could have been having sex or eating Taco King. Or both. I'm pretty open to kink, should I be persuaded."

Wade blinked, eyes wide as Peter opened the window and threw the box out, and then slammed the window with a finality that seemed to resound in the mercenary's very soul. Peter dusted off his hands then placed them on his hips as he turned to Wade.

With a gentle smile, Peter said, "Happy?"

It took less than three seconds for Wade to wrap himself around the web slinging teen, his weighting sending them crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

"Oh, Petey! I missed you so much! Let's never fight again!" Wade yelled, tightening his arms around Peter's neck and kissing his face over and over, "Never buy those…those…those things again, Petey! They-they just sat there mocking me and The Boxes kept telling me how much you must have hated me, well, one Box did, the Other One kept saying something about how you just didn't understand the difference between tacos and tacos and now that I think about it, you probably don't, I mean, I'm a man and you've only ever dated Mary Jane and Gwen and since you're kind of a scrawny little guy I sincerely doubt you ever made it to second base, let alone third, so-"

"Do you wanna move this to the bedroom or run your mouth until it lands you more hot water?"


End file.
